


Interlude I

by hoc_voluerunt



Series: SPQR [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece & Rome, Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Alternate Universe - Historical, Ancient Rome, Arguing, Class Differences, Class Issues, Cohabitation, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 22:07:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoc_voluerunt/pseuds/hoc_voluerunt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vannus moves his things into CCXXI, and Celatus learns what happens when you try to insult a former legionary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interlude I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Verecunda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verecunda/gifts).



            Vannus’ bedroom at CCXXI was a small and humble affair: a single wooden frame held mattress and covers, a table was set against the far, narrow wall, and to the left sat a chest of large, square drawers, and a few empty shelves in the wood and plaster. Having shoved his trunk into place at the end of the bed, the day after killing the murderous litter-bearer, Vannus began to set things out in his new room, and simultaneously to ignore the watching Celatus, where he leaned artfully in the doorway.

            “What _will_ my brother say…” Celatus murmured. Vannus half glanced up, distracted by trying to juggle his old armour, wrapped in cloth, and a small bundle of surgery knives.

            “I don’t know,” he said, as he dropped the armour onto the bed, “what will he say?”

            Celatus hummed. It was not a happy sound. “Let it suffice to be known that dear _Numitor_ is hardly so liberal in his ideas as myself.”

            Vannus turned with a suppressed laugh. “One,” he said, raising a finger – “no one in their right mind would call you _liberal._ And two –” he raised another finger – _“Numitor?_ And – what did you say your praenomen was, again?”

            Celatus glared. _“Amulius,”_ he said, defensive and displeased. Vannus snorted.

            “By Mithras, I thought you looked strange for a Cornelius, and this just proves my point. Numitor and Amulius: your family really _is_ odd.”

            Celatus glared. _“It’s a mark of our family’s antiquity.”_

            “I hope you don’t have any nephews I need to look out for,” Vannus quipped, regardless, as he dug more clothes from the bottom of his trunk to put away in a drawer.

            “Oh, shut up,” Celatus muttered, with a deepening scowl.

            “Do I need to make sure to keep you away from the river?” Vannus added, undeterred. “Or should I just ask Mars to be a little more courteous to any daughters your brother might have? Jupiter knows he owes me a favour…”

            “I said _shut up,”_ Celatus snarled. His expression was deadly in the face of Vannus’ amusement, but an instant later, his face cleared, and he decided on a different tactic. Having returned to his usual, aloof manner, he proclaimed: “As I was saying – my brother will be _mortified_ to find out I’m now actually living with a _Briton._ A plebeian is bad enough, of course, but this might actually make his heart finally fail.”

            Vannus froze where he had knelt once more before the trunk, his hands curling into fists on the edge of the wood. “I beg your pardon?” he asked the wall, with a tightened jaw.

            A scoff, and Celatus threw off his new friend’s anger like a dirty cloak. “Well, a distinguished Roman family like ours,” he explained; “it was bad enough when I moved away from home, with all those absurd death masks lining the walls. We may not have had a consul in the last generations, but the Cornelii are a respected and ancient family, and I hardly think Sollemnis will approve of my even _consorting_ with the _son of a freedman,_ let alone living with one. I’m sure he’d rather I lodged with a _real_ citizen.”

            His words worked all too well. In a few, swift seconds, and with the rustle of steady feet, Vannus had his hands in Celatus’ tunic and had shoved him against the wall. His forearm pressed against the taller man’s neck, and his breath came harsh and angry. One of his slender, surgeon’s knives had appeared in his left hand, hanging by his side.

            “Now you listen to me,” he growled up into Celatus’ shocked face, “and you listen well. I may not have a bloodline extending to the kings, but I am _just_ as much a Roman as you are. My parents may have been Britons, and they may have been slaves, but I am a _citizen,_ just like you, and you have no power over me! I was born in this city, I fought for my emperor – I did my duty, and all I got in return was an arrow in my shoulder and a hasty farewell! So don’t you dare think yourself better than me, _Amulius Cornelius Celatus,_ don’t you _dare_ think to disrespect me on the basis on my status. I am a _Roman citizen,_ do you understand? I have the same rights as you, and if you _ever_ insult me like that again –”

            “You’ll _what?”_ Celatus spat through his oppressed throat. “Kill me? Rob me? You know I can outsmart you in the blink of an eye. I could ruin you without a second thought, and no court in Rome would value the son of a freedman – the son of a _slave –_ over the word of a senatorial family. You are _nothing._ Your life means nothing, your threats mean nothing; even your _name_ is not your own – _Vannus.”_

            Vannus’ knife rested now, suddenly, against the pale and fragile skin of Celatus’ throat.

            “I have killed for you once,” he said, in voice low and menacing – “do not think that I will hesitate to hurt you myself. You are _never_ to use that name again, do you hear? I am _Piso_ to you, and to every Roman – _Caelius Piso._ It is _my_ name, and I bear it proudly, and if you ever dare to speak my British name again, I will hunt you down like the Furies – and don’t think I will show any more mercy to you than them.”

            Celatus glared from his superior height, but Vannus would not back down. With a deep breath, the patrician schooled his features and claimed his voice.

            “Very well then,” he said – _“Piso.”_

            With a final scowl, Vannus released his new housemate, and stepped back, replacing the knife with its fellows in leather on the bed. Celatus straightened his toga and swept away without another word.

            Two days later, however, a disgruntled client tried to attack Celatus in the courtyard, and Vannus’ sword was out in seconds, loyalty having overridden pride.


End file.
